


Sweet dreams and Flying machines

by thetruthisinourtardis



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetruthisinourtardis/pseuds/thetruthisinourtardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas Richardson isn't depressed. He doesn't get depressed. It doesn't work like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet dreams and Flying machines

**Author's Note:**

> _Been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned towards the sun  
>  Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around  
> Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come  
> Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground_

\--  
\--

It had ended in silence.

No big fight. No throwing of dishes. They didn't even get mad at each other, really. Douglas Richardson couldn't really hate Helena for falling out of love with a man who was hardly ever there and always had a snarky answer for everything. In comparison with her Tai Chi teacher, he couldn't win. So they came to a mutual agreement, divided their assists evenly, and on a rainy Tuesday morning in March, Helena Crowley moved the last of her things into the waiting truck and drove out of his life. 

The first few weeks had been the easiest. He'd been busy with MJN, flying back to back flights over the atlantic and having ample opportunity to take his mind off it by torturing Martin till he literally refused to speak with him. Douglas came up with new and inventive ways to embarrass his captain, and it came to a head when he actually got written up by Carolyn for forcing Martin to wear a dress to the air field. He'd laughed a lot those weeks, enough that he started to think he was too cool, too mature, to be bothered by something as silly as divorce. Especially since this was his fourth. It was old hat. He was a pro at it. He wasn't lonely.

Four weeks after, he had his first drink in a decade.

The crushing guilt reflected up at him as the light yellow liquid filled up the shot glass, but even then Douglas didn't allow himself to think too much about it. He was allowed, wasn't he? He could drink just this once, just this once to the death of another relationship. Just one glass.

Then another.

Then another.

Then the bottle was empty, and he was sobbing brokenly on the floor of his living room.

The jokes began to stop after that. Slowly at first, barely noticeable, but when they made their overnight trip to Singapore and Martin managed to one up him in a game and began to gloat, Douglas could barely muster a smile of congratulations. Martin, bless him, had recognized, but thought better of mentioning it. Douglas was very grateful. After all, it was just a phase. He'd be right as rain in no time at all.

One night two months later, to celebrate Martin's three year anniversary with MJN, Carolyn had the entire crew over to her house.

"Can we have a drink, Carolyn?"

"But Douglas, you don't drink!"

"Well, I might've had one or two the other day…."

Martin, who had figured it out long before when Douglas smelled like whiskey one morning, simply looked away. But Carolyn gasped loudly. "Oh Douglas. But you were doing so well too!"

He glared at her, eyes rimmed with dark circles. "Don't patronize me. I'm 58 years old. I can bloody well do what I want." Not even Carolyn had anything to say about it.

Douglas drank most of the spirits that night and passed out on the couch.

\--  
\--

It took him five months of an empty house to realize that he was losing himself again.

But it was different this time, the terrible beast called alcoholism. It was nothing like it was in his late twenties and mid-thirties. Then, the hangovers hadn't devastated him in the morning, his body hadn't ached, and there had always been someone in the bed next to him. He had been a young man with promise, with dreams, good looks and with a devil may care attitude. The only thing left was the attitude, and there was precious little it could get him now that he was older. 

He wasn't depressed. Douglas Richardson didn't get depressed. He was British. He would soldier on and ignore it however he had to, no matter how badly it hurt. His father had been a true champion of the sport, and Douglas had learned well how to hide just how deep the anguish cut. 

Course, he was far too smart to drink on the job or right before one. That was the worst of it. He could go on living like this indefinitely. Fly on a no class airline with people who drove him crazy for not enough money as a first officer, then come home and drink himself to death. It could be done, but why should it? Why keep up the charade? 

It was another rainy Tuesday when, halfway through a bottle of Scotch, Douglas decided that no, no he couldn't. Actually, no he wouldn't. He refused. He was Douglas Richardson, and dying alone and wasted, an empty shell of the magnificent man he had been in his youth, was not the way he was going to go. The very idea of it tasted horrible in his mouth. So Douglas, drunk as he was, began to plan. The least painful way, he figured, would be just a quick bullet to the skull. Bang, and you're gone. But that would leave a mess, and he didn't feel right about making someone else clean up after him (though really, that was going to happen anyway). After heavy negotiations with himself, and downing the rest of the bottle, he settled on hanging. Sort of poetic, really. The despondent captain (for he WAS a captain, and he'd be damned if he was remembered for anything less) gets fed up with life and hangs himself. It almost sounded like a poem by Neruda or Byron. 

Not today, though. No, not for a while. He had a job to finish first. One last flight. One last glorious take off for Douglas Richardson.

One more time to tease Martin, to laugh at Arthur's incompetence, to ignore and endure Carolyn's tongue lashing and wish he had told her how he felt. Maybe he would, as he resigned. Because he would. He would quit, and not leave them hanging and wondering why he would just leave them. As insane as they were, he…

And here Douglas's glassy eyes widened, filling with tears. He loved them. It was stupid, childish, and utterly ridiculous, but MJN had been there for him. After the whole smuggling debacle at Air England, there was every reason that Douglas would never work again. But Carolyn had said yes. She wanted him there. Arthur, god bless him, would be devastated. He would never understand why Douglas did it, and would probably cry for years afterwards wondering if there was anything, ANYTHING, he could've done to help him. 

And then there was Martin. 

Poor, nervous, desperate-to-be-taken-seriously Martin. 

Martin, who even through all the insults, had been the one person Douglas trusted with the knowledge that he was getting divorced. That he'd been a smuggler and a thief, and martin trusted him anyway. He put up with Douglas's teasing and ribbing and actually considered him a friend and, at times, a mentor. He looked up to Douglas, even though he was in charge. 

Everyone in his life had left. Every wife, his own daughter, all the so called friends he had in the old days…everyone. They were all he had left.

The sobs came again, hammering against his chest and forcing his eyes shut. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, Douglas found himself dialing Martin's number. "Hello? Douglas, is….is that you?" He couldn't bring himself to answer. He couldn't let Martin hear him like this. But Martin did, and his voice turned soft and concerned. "Douglas? Are--Are you c--dear god, Douglas, I knew you were hurting but….b-but I didn't think---" The other man fell silent, and a slight shuffling was heard. "Look, just….y-you don't have to say anything, ok? Just stay on the line with me. I'm on my way over. Just give me ten minutes to get there."

" M'Fine," Douglas finally choked out, wiping his eyes furiously. "Don't come over. It was a bad idea, calling you."

"You've been full of bad ideas lately." Douglas could hear the sarcasm in Martin's voice, and he faintly felt his heart swell with pride. The boy had learned well. "You're staying on the line, and I'm on my way."

\--  
\--

"Stop it. I'm fine."

Martin had arrived in record time, driving through Fitton in his beat up van at speeds that had to have been illegal. Douglas tried to feel annoyed by this, even going so far as throwing some biting remarks at the young man, but Martin hadn't even reacted, dragging him back to the couch and sitting next to him. The normally nervous, uptight, jumpy captain was remarkably calm about the state Douglas was in, not even batting an eye at his sunken, hollow eyes or the tears that refused to stop. He merely sat next to him, waiting.

Finally, Douglas grumbled irritably and looked down at his feet. "…Thank you, Martin."

Martin jerked his head up. "Thank you? For what?"

"For…this. For coming. For…" Douglas wiped at his eyes again, slowly beginning to sober up. "…well. You know. Caring."

Douglas had always admired how open Martin was about his emotions, even if he didn't want to be. He just couldn't mask it. And now, heartbreak shone out brightly on his face. "You're my friend. Why wouldn't I come?" Martin sighed heavily. "I've been worried about you for months. You just haven't been yourself since…" He mercifully didn't say her name. "And you started drinking again, and then I really worried. But I know, Douglas. I know what it means when you stop laughing and merely pretend to." Damn. Douglas had to give Martin credit, he was a lot more observant than he'd ever given him credit for. And right now, his icy blue eyes were staring into his, red from the effort it was taking to keep from crying with him. "You have so much to live for."

Douglas laughed harshly. "Do I, captain? What do I have to live for? I'm almost 59 years old. Four failed marriages. An estranged daughter, the light of my life who doesn't want anything to do with me. And I was fired from my dream job because…because…" He paused, closing his eyes. "Because I thought it would last forever. Because I got greedy. And then it was gone. And now I'm here, first officer on a terrible charter jet when I know I could be more!" His chest tightened again, but Douglas forced himself to be angry instead. "But no, I couldn't be more. Not anymore. I'm washed up, dried out, and worthless, aren't I? No wonder she left."

"But…" Martin flushed, stammering like he always did when he had no idea what to say. "B-But, Douglas…."

"And you know what?" He turned on Martin, glaring. "It's why I'm always so hard on you, Martin. You know why? Look at you. You've told me time and again how much you've always wanted it. How hard you've had to work, how often you've failed. I have never known anyone, ANYONE, who's wanted it more. You--You actually could be something great." More tears escaped. "And I hate you for it. I absolutely hate you. Because when I was you, and when I was young, I didn't want it. I didn't care when it mattered. Every opportunity I had, I took for granted." His voice began to crack, and Douglas couldn't help slumping forward into Martin's outstretched arms, fighting as hard as he could to keep his composure. "You will be everything I never was, and I can't stand that sometimes. S-So when you're stupid, or try to do things like I did, I get on you. I stop you. Because you need to be great, Martin. You need to be the best, and you will be." Only then did the sobbing return, and Douglas clung to Martin like a child, rocking slightly with the force of it. Martin didn't say anything or pull away, he didn't even move. He simply held on, rubbing a wary hand on the older man's back, holding onto him almost as tightly.

After what felt like forever, Martin let Douglas go, looking for all the world like a frightened little boy instead of a captain. "I do look up to you, Douglas."

"You really shouldn't." He couldn't help being snide about it.

"Well I do." Martin gave him a look. "And you're not giving up, not while I'm around." They fell silent for a while, then Martin chuckled a little quietly. "Although, if you did die, I could actually get paid."

Douglas stared at him in shock, then broke into a grin. "No, I think Carolyn would hire Arthur as copilot before she actually paid you." They laughed together, leaning on each other's shoulders. The tension was dissipating, and for that Douglas was eternally grateful.

Somehow, Martin forced Douglas to eat something, and they chatted back and forth for an hour as the haze of alcohol slowly left Douglas's mind. Nothing interesting or emotional, just little stories from each other's lives. Martin, predictably, had broken a lot of bones as a child, and had attempted to fly off the roof of his house when he was five and a half (and under the impression he could be an airplane if he tried hard enough). Douglas told him about the night Melissa, his teenaged daughter, was born and how beautiful and terrifying it had been. They reminisced about flights together, and that one time in Ottery St. Mary (which they had agreed to never talk about in detail). They laughed a lot throughout.

"You know something?" Douglas was already starting to feel a little better, less lonely at least. "MJN. We're sort of like a horribly dysfunctional family, aren't we?"

Martin nodded eagerly. "Oh god, yes. Carolyn is our overbearing tyrant of a mother."

Douglas laughed at that. "You're the eldest boy, desperate to please everyone and make mummy proud."

"Oh god, no." They both laughed. Martin shook his head, smile on his face. "Um, Arthur could be my little brother who wants to tag along with everything I do."

"Either that, or he's the family dog."

"Douglas!" Martin giggled. "And--And you would be--"

Douglas leaned back in his chair a little. "I would be the fun drunk uncle that mum only allowed around for the holidays."

"…You'd be the dad."

He stopped, staring at Martin. "The dad? Why?"

Martin shrugged. "You look after us. Always saw you as a….um…." He looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry. But….but you know how my own dad was. So…."

"Oh."

More silence.

"Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"I see you that way too."

\--  
\--

Eventually, as all visits do, Martin had to go home.

He left Douglas with a firm hug, making him promise to call him for any reason, at any time. And he had promised. And as Martin drove off in that horrible van of his, Douglas couldn't help but smile after him. Things weren't fixed yet. Not by a long shot. It wasn't some fairy tale story where every problem he'd ever had would be solved in 90 minutes and he'd live happily ever after.

But someone cared.

And that was enough for now.

\--  
\--


End file.
